Time to Cry Tuesday – Disappointment

Disappointment… such a lousy emotion. It comes tethered to expectations and rears its ugly head out of nowhere when you think you have ‘it’ all handled.  I have tried my best to manage expectations to avoid this nasty sucker. But sometimes shit happens, you are at its mercy, and it takes you down.

Big time.

To make it short and avoid a pity party, I have managed high blood pressure. It has been controlled for a long time, went a little wacky back in the fall and got back on track. Then I had a reaction to some meds that made me feel very ill and caused my ankle to swell (of course the one I sprained a while back) and the switch of meds set me on a BP roller coaster I do not wish on my worst enemy.

The net: I could not fly. And what was I supposed to do… you bet. Fly. To Spain. To see my boy who is studying abroad. Who I have not seen since January. On a trip we had planned forever. At a time when we really needed a break. On the first real vacation in many, many years. That we can’t reschedule. Not life shattering, just a piece of life that I can’t get back. One of the really fun pieces.

I am coming out the other side of this huge disappointment and all I can do is run through my head all of the things I have told my kids over the years when their expectations were shattered:

1. Sometimes you just have to feel like crap.
2. Misery gives happiness context.
3. Everything happens for a reason and sometimes we don’t find out what that reason is for a long time.
4. Who you are when things suck says more about you than who you are when they are great.
5. Sometimes its not fair. Period.

On the other end of that wisdom I was fully aware of how annoying that wisdom could be. (sorry kids)

Until a friend of mine posted a favorite Maya Angelou quote that made me smile and think about who I really want to be:

“I’ve learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way he/she handles these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights.”

Even a Jewish girl gets the last one.

So if you see me knocking on a christian neighbor’s door asking to borrow their christmas lights in the rain wearing the same thing for 2 days in a row, you will know that it is just an exercise.

As is all of life.

 

Why the Pope Quit

My son is studying abroad this semester in Spain.

Last weekend he went to visit a bunch of his HS and college friends in Rome.

The following day the Pope resigned. This hasn’t happened in almost 600 years…

Just saying.

 

 

 

Time to Cry Tuesday – Letting Go, Global Version

As a parent, every few years you are faced with another rite of passage, another adventure your child is about to embark on, another chance for you to show your chops as a parent. Although your heart is hanging on to the hem of their pants as they walk through that door, your head is ready to let them fly…

again.

The last time I wrote one of these my boy was off to college. Seems like yesterday, yet here we, are 3 and half years later and he is off for a semester abroad in Seville, Spain. I thought now would be a good time to give him one of my famous lists of advice. I do this every so often to remind him, or more likely myself, that I am not quite through imparting wisdom just yet. If I write it here instead of tell him all this to his face, I spare myself the humiliation of the sighing and eye-rolling. So here goes, in no particular order.

1. Don’t be THAT American. This is similar to what I told my kids when they were first starting to experiment with drinking. Don’t be THAT girl/guy, the one that gets wasted and pukes on themselves. Don’t be THAT American simply means respect the local culture.
2. Try to really SEE Europe, don’t just drink Europe. This is obvious to me and quite ridiculous to him. Hopefully somewhere in between will be his reality.
3. Keep your eyes open and soak in everything. You never know what might wind up being the answer to what you want to do with your life.
4. Be Smart. If it feels wrong, it probably is. If it seems unsafe, it probably is.
5. Eat Everything, within reason. No explanation needed.
6. Don’t be a dick (not that you ever would be). Again, the international version. This is like number 1 on steroids. Check the ego at the door and you might as well leave the egocentric there to keep it company.
7. If you have to play beer pong, make sure you win the 100 Euro. Self-explanatory.
8. Amsterdam – you MUST see the Anne Frank House. As Jana said, as a Jew it is your responsibility. Period.
9. The rest of your time in Amsterdam. I do not need details, thanks.
10. Have the time of your life. This one should be easy.

In all seriousness, you are an amazing young man and have always made us proud. We have no real worries about this trip. We are just a more than a little jealous.

Mom Fail

Packaging. It can be so deceiving. At first glance the red and white box simply seemed to be the inhaler I had just picked up from the pharmacy, so it went in the ‘to pack’ pile for my son’s semester abroad.

Ok, so it was the dog’s ear drops instead. Hey, she never let’s me get near her with them, anyway. Someone might as well use them.

I know, a wheezing American in Spain would probably not have seen the humor in that.

Mom fail or honest mistake?

Damn Jewish Mother Guilt

It came to my attention, thanks to my mother-in-law and the Jewish grapevine, that a camper that had been in my son’s bunk was diagnosed with Whooping Cough.

Pertussis.

Not a great thing to get. And said son came home with his usual post-camp ‘kennel’ cough. I did not think much of it more than usual exhaustion, until I heard about the Whooping Cough. Certainly nothing to take lightly in teens and young adults (FYI, even though your kids were vaccinated with the DTP – the P being Pertussis – when they were little, the vaccine wears off in about 10ish years. Consider this a funny PSA).

If you have a college Jr. you will know that they tend to be a little, shall I say, overly independent when it comes to their healthcare. I particularly like the part where having a cough for going on 4 weeks seems to be no big deal to him since he believes it is not Whooping Cough.

Here is the actual text thread we had today. When necessary, I can still kick some serious Jewish Mother butt. Please note the horrendous iphone typos. But he got my point.

The Graduation Post 2 – Zen and the Art of Letting Go

Here is the second of the graduation posts. How different to graduate your youngest child, this is when YOUR life changes the most. Timely as he is leaving for the summer today after only 3 weeks home… the longest amount of  time he has been here in 2 years. Hey, we raise them to grow up, kiddies. THIS is the good stuff. 

There are times in your life when you simply have to let it go. When you are a parent – and a control freak to boot – letting go is not the easiest thing to do.

But I know better. Time marches on and either we march along with it or we get trampled. Ok, so maybe I feel some boots on my back right about now. And I know I am not alone.

So, to all of you who are trying to march into step with the graduation class of 2010, here it is: the Time to Cry Tuesday post about graduating your youngest child.

The other day, during the 4-hour end of school/pre-camp errand, Danny and I found ourselves in the bookstore and I came across Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenanceby Robert M. Pirsig. This 1974 novel was one of my most favorites back in the day – whenever the hell ‘the day’ was. Maybe High School, or college. I like to recommend some quality books to my kids in between the trash so I suggested that he read this. After being rejected by over 121 publishers it went on to sell over 4 million copies and was translated into 27 languages.

I suppose I was not alone in my love for this book.

While he browsed, I stopped at the Starbucks to try to alleviate the sleep-deprived haze I found myself in that is all too familiar this time of year. I began to refresh my memory by reading the back of the book. Up until this moment I had done a damn good job of holding it together. He is ready. He is excited. He is moving on to the next chapter of his life with the confidence and unbridled passion that only a young man of almost 18 could have.

I was good, I tell you, until I read this:

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance is a powerful, moving, and penetrating examination about how we live… and a breathtaking meditation on how to live better… an unforgettable narration of a summer motorcycle trip across America’s Northwest, undertaken by a father and his young son. A story of love and fear – growth, discovery and acceptance – that becomes a profound personal and philosophical odyssey into life’s fundamental questions…

And that was when it happened. I broke. There in the Starbucks while ordering the grande iced latte (not even half caff, for G-d sake) I could not breathe. What if I had not imparted enough to him? Could I have done more? Could I have ‘lived better’ by example? Why did I never take a motorcycle trip cross country with him when he was younger ? (ok, that one is a stretch) Wait, I need a do over! I am sure there is some colossal parenting task I did not achieve well enough. Seriously, it went too fast, how could he make it without me?

And then I looked across the store.  And there he was, with that scruffy almost-beard and that ultra-confident, but in no way cocky little swagger that he has. And I realized the only wisdom that was not realized was my own:

The Art of Letting Go.

My friends, the road is long. And then it ends(ish). But as we who havegraduated the siblings before these kids know, being a parent is a life-long job. And this stage is in many ways more fun than any of them. They are the people we grew from babies.

Their own people. And with any luck they will take care of US when we are old. (which may be sooner than I think if I don’t get some sleep soon)

To my boy, may we always have days like these past few weeks we have shared. Thanks for humoring me through them. And for making me so very proud to be your mom.

I love you. Now go and be all you can be.

And be careful.

Parental Role Models

Today was our anniversary. This is the card we got from our kids:

This was what they wrote inside. And when I say ‘they’ I mean Jana. Sorry Dan but we know you had no idea it was our anniversary today.

Perhaps I need to be less candid with the kids.

 

Time to Cry Tuesday – Z Goes Home

Way back when, Gary started to call me Z. I am not sure how it started, but it was in college and it just sort of stuck. The only people who call me that besides him are my college friends and Mo and Jo. In fact, when certain people call me Amy it sounds weird.

Z. That is just me.

I don’t remember when I found the book in the picture in this post, but I had to own it. Doing some Spring cleaning it popped up again. I just love the illustration. It made me think not of this house I was cleaning, but of what home means. What the essence of Z coming home means to me.

It was so timely to find this book this weekend. Danny came home for Spring Break on Thursday night. As luck would have it (for us, not them I suppose) both of my kids decided to stay home on Saturday night. I cooked dinner and we just hung out as a family. And Sunday was a lazy family day with brunch at the diner and all 4 of us under the same roof. All this was topped off by Chinese food and some favorite TV shows.

Z Comes Home.

To me, home is being with the family we built. Not doing anything monumental, just being us. Back in the day of diapers and teething, then carpools and sports, who would have ever thought that the idea of all 4 of us together would be so rare? Or that the idea of a diner brunch and chinese food on Sunday night would feel so special.

Z Comes Home.

When Z came home she learned to savor every moment; especially the small ones.

Time to Cry Tuesday – Halloween cupcakes

Yesterday I woke up at 4:30 and couldn’t sleep. I would like to say it was because I love halloween and I was so excited, but really folks, women of a certain age just don’t sleep all that regularly.

Usually I would lie in bed and just chill, but yesterday I decided to get up and bake the Funfetti Halloween cupcakes instead, because… well, because if I did not bake them then I would have to wait a whole year. (Funfetti is sort of a religion in these parts)

As I was making coffee and taking on this ridiculous task for no apparent reason, I realized that was the whole point. I was baking Halloween Funfetti cupcakes at 5AM… because I didn’t HAVE to. For so very many years – as a working mom – I found myself baking some ridiculous confection in the wee hours of the morning (the cowboy hat cupcakes at 2AM when Jana was in 4th grade come to mind. btw, these are cool, involving a cookie, an upside down cupcake and string licorice). But now, I was doing it because I wanted to, not to prove that I could do it all.

As I waited for the timer to go off, I sat drinking a cup of coffee while the sun came up and the household began to stir and got more than a little nostalgic about Halloween with younger kids. I have never been one to pine away for the past stages of parenting; but yesterday morning, in the quite of my kitchen I could not help but remember the sweet chaos of those days. Did I fully appreciate them wile they were happening? I like to think so. But in reality I am sure they were tempered with the rushed obsession to make it all the perfect halloween for the kids and maybe I did not savor it as much as I should have.

I have this thing about the seasons; I wish we could have just one day of beautiful summer beach weather in the middle of the winter and one crisp snowy day in the middle of a heatwave in the summer. Just one day. That’s not asking too much. I feel the same way about parenting now. Yesterday morning, as I was sprinkling the ‘fetti’ on the top of those cupcakes, I wished for just one day with ‘Little Danny‘ and ‘Little Jana‘, as they like to refer to their childhood selves.

Even the year when the little guy insisted on being a cowboy and I stayed up all night making his costume for him to wake up on Halloween and tell me ‘I want to be a Ninja like Dougie’.

I suppose the imperfections of raising kids are what makes parenting so perfect.

(BTW, ‘Big Danny’, since I tortured your dad that we did not have enough candy, you and the boys will be the happy recipients of a big box of candy… watch the package room for it.)

Nineteen

Today marks the beginning of the last year I will have a teenager! That’s right, my boy is 19 today. I labored with this boy through my entire birthday and he was born at 1AM, leaving him to not have to share his  special day. It is hard to believe that we have reached this stage already. I have always said that the first 5 years of their lives lasts an eternity and after that it flies by in the blink of an eye.

The picture above is from his 10th birthday. This photo is the essence of Danny. Even though he looks more like the photo below these days, his core being is captured in the little carefree face on this cake.

Here’s to you, my boy. You are patient, kind, analytical, funny, thoughtful, responsible, silly at times (ok and maybe a bit of an idiot at others, but aren’t we all) and oh such a joy to raise. Sometimes I wonder who is raising who. As you’re 4th grade teacher once said, “Danny is a happy go lucky deep thinker.”

I could not ask for a better son. I love you more than life itself. Have a blast for your birthday and for goodness sake, BE CAREFUL.

(Hey, I am still a mom)